Painted Friends From Long Ago
by Peeta Melark
Summary: Since Camlann, Merlin has taken to painting. He paints everything from Aithusa to Ygraine, and especially Arthur, Morgana, Gwen, and the Knights. He knows his friends are returning to the mortal world, as he has already met Elena, but he does not realize how many have already come back until Elena's mother asks to show his work in her gallery. The only one yet to return is Arthur.
1. Chapter 1

Painting was Merlin's escape. Unfortunately, it also became his downfall. As the world spiraled deeper into disaster, Merlin painted more and more. Gwen one day, Morgana the next. He liked to paint Morgana before she turned evil, but that was sometimes too hard. He remembered the darkness in her too vividly. So he painted her on her dark throne, clothed in a dusty dress made of shadows and spiders' webs, her hair in ruins.

The Knights of the Round Table also frequented Merlin's art. Sometimes he would set down his brush to see Gwaine grinning back at him from the canvas, or Lancelot staring over his read-cloaked shoulder as he walked to his death. But mostly he just painted Arthur. He liked to think he almost painted him back to life.

One day, as Merlin was showing his current girlfriend's parents around his flat, her mother's eyes rested on his easel. Mordred stared back, bathed in ethereal light, his eyes flashing gold.

"This is wonderful!" she exclaimed, moving to take a closer look. Elena's father went with her.

"Ever thought of, you know, _showing_ your work to the world?" he asked. Merlin admitted that he hadn't, which drew a laugh.

"May I show some of these at my next gallery show?" Elena's mother pleaded, and Merlin noticed for the first time how much she looked like her daughter. Both were petite and pale and blonde, their eyes a dark greyish blue. But Elena's eyes were fiery where her mother's were calm. Merlin almost smiled at the thought, for he remembered Elena being motherless in a past life.

"I suppose," said Merlin, not entirely sure what possessed him to do so. Elena's mother beamed.

"Which ones would you prefer, dear?"

"Mum," Elena interrupted. "Let him breathe."

Merlin glanced at her gratefully, warmth returning to his body, which had gone cold with nervousness. Elena grinned and swept her long hair back from her face, pulling it into a messy ponytail. Merlin thought he wanted to paint her like that. He always painted the Elena of old, claiming it was just a funny daydream of his. He painted her in her yellow dress, her hair messy and that awkward smile on her face. But he also painted her in the beautiful dress she had worn for her marriage—the one that never happened.

"Funny," she would always say, her fingers ghosting along the frame. "It's like something I remember from a dream…"

But now her eyes held none of that dreaminess. Instead, she seemed sad. She looked over at one of Merlin's paintings of Arthur—the young king in armor, a bloody stain rusting the metal where Mordred's sword had run him through. It was the moment he had thanked Merlin… said something he had never said before. _Thank you_.

"How about this one, Merlin?" she asked, stepping closer to the painting, her hand curled into a fist against her chest. "It's beautiful."

Merlin fought to keep his voice from breaking. "Yeah. I… I'm proud of that one."

Elena's mother beamed, about to say more, but Elena cut her off.

"Mum, Merlin and I were going to watch the _Buffy_ marathon on TV tonight. Starts in an hour, and we really need to make the cookies and popcorn. Love you, but bye!"

Merlin would have laughed if he weren't so embarrassed. But Elena was right. They had a _Buffy_ marathon to watch, and his stupid paintings would _not_ be the reason they missed it. If there was anything he loved about this new era, it was _Buffy_. He liked seeing this tiny girl defeat any number of terrifying monsters. And, besides, Buffy reminded him a little of Arthur. It was also the best quality time he had with Elena, since she was always out teaching.

"Well, goodbye then, dear. Tell that adorable boyfriend of yours goodbye."

"He's right here!" Elena cried. "Tell him yourself."

But her parents were gone, disappeared down the dark hallway. Merlin watched as she shut the door and turned around, a bright smile on her face.

"_Buffy_ now?" she asked, bouncing on her toes. Merlin fought a giggle.

"That's in an hour, sweetheart. Cookies, maybe, and popcorn. Then turn on the TV. Then _Buffy_. Yeah?"

"Yeah!" Elena hopped up and down before running into the kitchen, socked feet sliding on the wood floor. Sometimes it was hard to believe she taught something so graceful as dance. As she raced about making cookies and popcorn, Merlin went to his easel and set up a new canvas, a new palette of paints. He wanted to paint Arthur, but Morgana's smile stuck itself behind his eyes until it was all he could see. After some deliberation, he started to paint, the soft curve of Morgana's smile forming as if by its own will. When he stopped, Elena was already on the couch in front of the TV, a tray of cookies and popcorn on her lap. The TV was on, and the show had already started. She smiled at him as he sat down and took a cookie. It was warm and tasted like pure happiness.

"You're a goddess," Merlin said. Elena leaned against his shoulder, and he could feel her smile through the fabric of his shirt.

"I know you don't really think so, but thank you," she said. Merlin wondered what she meant by that.

**A/N: I swear the next chapter will be longer and better. I just had to get this story started or I never would at all. **


	2. Chapter 2

The gallery opening was nerve-wracking. Elena forced Merlin into a suit and ran through his hair with a brush, then she made him turn this way and that so she could make sure he looked perfect. Then she changed into a knee-length yellow dress and a white cardigan. She even pulled her hair back with a couple of sparkly clips before giving Merlin a quick kiss on the cheek.

"You'll be fine," she promised. "Just be yourself."

Merlin gave a nervous laugh. "Awful advice, sweetheart, but thanks."

Elena smiled. "I do my best." She glanced at the clock. "We'd best be going. Mum'll totally freak out if we're not on time. Come on."

Elena's mother—Elizabeth—greeted them with hugs and kisses at the door of her gallery, and then ushered them inside. She chatted excitedly about who would be coming to the opening, and proceeded to ask Merlin if he liked where she'd put each painting. Merlin nodded absentmindedly, his eyes catching on one of his most recent paintings—Gwaine and Arthur mid-laugh, their eyes half shut. He remembered that moment so vividly it hurt. But a second later, that feeling was gone. He glanced at Elena, who was standing in front of one of his paintings of her, smiling dreamily.

Guests arrived at six o'clock sharp, and nearly everyone had questions for Merlin.

"Why these legends?" asked one elderly man, tapping his cane impatiently on the floor.

"Well, my name is Merlin," Merlin offered. "And I'm just passionate about the stories. They're… beautiful."

"Who are the models?" asked a young woman. "I _swear_ I went to school with her." She pointed to a portrait of Gwen.

"No one," Merlin admitted. "I just… their faces just sort of made themselves."

A thousand other questions erupted from that one simple answer, and Merlin was almost certain he was going to throw up. But then there was Elena, her hand on his elbow, her voice rising to quiet the torrent of questions. She led Merlin away to the back of the gallery, where she sat him down and got him a glass of water.

"I know how you feel," she offered. "I mean, I felt like this after my first choreographed piece. I just wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. It was all questions about why that spin was there, and why that step was—Are you _sure_ you're all right?"

Merlin nodded. "I'm fine."

Elena helped him up. "I'm sure," she said. She sounded sad… again.

~O~O~O~O~

"Are you the models?" Merlin heard someone say. He whirled around to see Elena's father addressing a group of young men and women, each one achingly familiar. At the head of the group, a dark-haired young woman with glittering green eyes was looking steadily into the older man's eyes, while the dark-haired man at her side had his eyes fixed on a painting of Mordred.

"My god, is that _Mordred_?" he exclaimed. "Why is he glowing?"

Merlin felt like he was going to be sick. That man was Gwaine. He _had_ to be Gwaine.

"No… No, they're not my models," he said. He wanted to say he'd never seen them before in his life, but that would be a lie. Better to say that he had not seen them in this particular lifetime, not in the general timeline that is 'life.' Immortality was annoying at times.

"I've never seen him before in my life!" cried Morgana. She sounded slightly insulted, but then she always had. Then she smiled at Merlin. "These are beautiful."

"Thank you," he managed. "Would you like me to tell you about any in particular?"

Morgana's eyes lit up. "Yes, please." She broke away from the group and led Merlin to a painting of the old Morgana, dressed in her dark dress, a ring of fire around her.

"This one?" Merlin asked. Morgana nodded.

"Who is that woman?"

"Oh… Her name is Morgana."

"That's my name."

"I know—" He broke off abruptly. "I mean, is it really?"

"Morgana le Fay?" Morgana asked. "From the old legends, right? She was the queen of the faeries…" She shuddered, reading the plaque. "_Morgana—High Priestess of the Old Religion_."

Merlin stared around the gallery, his own work suddenly horrible. He hated the way they all seemed so alive, the way Arthur stared back at him with those piercing blue eyes. He could almost stand to see the images of death, the pain. But he couldn't bear to see the smiles. Each one ripped into him like a serrated knife, until he wanted to scream. All he could think was that he had to find Elena. Elena could help. She could get him out of here, away from the people who looked too much like his friends. But then again, so did she. Elena looked just like she always had, just more… contemporary. How could he look at her without remembering Arthur?

"Are you all right?"

Merlin looked at Morgana warily, though she had done nothing wrong so far. Still, he couldn't help but feel she was _going_ to. So many years spent keeping these monsters at bay, and they were all coming back to haunt him, more terrifying than ever before.

He would have to leave. That was all there was to it. If Elena would be a constant reminder of his past, then he would take his paintings and go. He couldn't leave his paintings behind. No, they were too much a part of him. But he couldn't stay, not when his old friends were returning.

He was about to turn and leave when Elena caught sight of him. She pushed through the crowd until she was right in front of him, blocking his way.

"Merlin? Merlin, what's the matter?" She grasped his wrists, holding on as if she knew what he was doing, where he was going. He didn't try to get away. Where was the point in that? Elena was strong. She could keep her grip.

"Elena, I'm so sorry," he said. His voice cracked and Elena's eyes narrowed.

"For what?" For a moment, she sounded just like the old, clumsy Elena.

"I can't… I can't…" He let out a sob as she led him into a storage closet, shutting the door behind them. "I'm so, so, so, sorry…"

"Shhh!" Elena pulled him into her arms, cradling his head against her shoulder. She kissed the top of his head gently. "Merlin, don't try to explain. It's all right."

"It… is?" Merlin had no idea what she was talking about, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I understand if you don't… want to be with me anymore. We can be… we can be friends." She sounded hurt, sad. Merlin looked up at her with tear-filled eyes. Part of him wanted to accept that offer, but the look on her face made it impossible.

"I couldn't do that," he said. "Not to you, Ellie. You're too good to me."

Elena smiled, relieved. Of course, Merlin had to ruin it.

"I was going to leave," he admitted. "Before you found me. I think I panicked. I've never… had so many people looking at my work."

Elena's smile nearly faded, but she kept it on her face. "Of course, Merlin," she murmured. "I understand."

Merlin wondered if she really did.

**A/N: Merthur or no Merthur…? I mean, it's basically canon, but I don't know… **

**Do you all like this so far?**

**Suggestions?**


	3. Chapter 3

Elena went back to her parents' home three months later. Even as she packed and left, Merlin wanted to call her back. But he knew she was right. Before she left, she told him it wasn't working, and maybe it never had been working. She was gracious and kind about it, and she certainly wasn't upset. She seemed relieved, like a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Merlin felt it, too. Since Morgana and the others had appeared at the show, Merlin hadn't been the same. He was distant and irritable, and he painted more than anything else. He couldn't blame Elena for packing up and heading back home. Instead, he slipped a painting in with the rest of her stuff. It was of her, just as she was in the contemporary world, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. It had no title, so he called it simply 'Elena.' He saw tears in her eyes as she packed it into the moving van.

"Bye, Merlin," she said, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," he said. "And if it means anything, I'm sorry."

Elena laughed and brushed a tear from under Merlin's eye. "For what? You didn't love me."

Merlin shook his head. "You're still my best friend. You always have been."

Now it was Elena's turn to shake her head. "I know, Merlin, but we both need to stop pretending we're going to get married and have nice little children in a sweet little cottage in the woods. It's not our destiny."

Destiny. Merlin shuddered. He had heard enough of that word for a lifetime. As Elena turned and left, he wondered what he would do with the extra space in his flat. He would probably just find a roommate. One he didn't care about, preferably, so he wouldn't be so upset if they left. Still, Elena was right. He didn't love her… not like that, and maybe he never had to begin with. It was best to let her go.

Three days later, when he got the call from Morgana, he almost didn't pick up. But he did. Her voice was soft and bright, with a sweet Irish accent and a smile to every word.

"Hello, Merlin?"

"Speaking," Merlin said, though he wasn't sure why. Who else would pick up his cell phone? Elena was gone.

"Hey, I don't want to impose, but do you think I could come by and look at some of your paintings? They're really quite special." She sighed. "And I have some questions."

Merlin felt himself go pale. "Sure," he said. "Sure, why not? How far away are you?"

"Just down the block, actually. I was shopping, and I couldn't find anything, so I figured I'd make friends instead. I'll be there in about ten minutes?"

Merlin agreed and hung up, staring about his flat in dismay. It was a wreck. Elena's moving process had thoroughly torn the place apart, leaving paintings stacked against walls, furniture out of place, and several scratches along the walls. Merlin could only hope Morgana wouldn't mind.

The doorbell rang, and Merlin raced to get it. When he opened the door, he was faced with a moment of panic. Morgana looked just as she always had, with her pale face, green eyes, and dark curls. But she seemed so much kinder, as if the centuries of sleep had changed her somehow. She peered into the flat before walking in, heels clicking on the wood floor.

"This is lovely!" she chirped. "My goodness, Merlin, there are so many of them! You're a _wizard_!"

Merlin laughed. "Warlock, actually," he said, and then stopped himself. Morgana turned around, her cheeks flushed from the cold she had just stepped out of.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing."

Morgana drifted over to a painting of Arthur, her long skirt swishing around her ankles. Hesitantly, she leaned in to take a closer look. "Remarkable…"

"What?"

Morgana shook her head, laughing softly. "It's nothing, I'm sure, but this…" She gestured to the painting. "He looks exactly like my brother. And this one looks like… like me."

Merlin looked at the painting she was pointing to. It was the old Morgana, her face lit up with laughter, her heart filled with goodness and light. But the background was dark, and tendrils of it crept towards Morgana, pretending to be her hair, her eyelashes, the pupils of her green eyes. And yet she was not afraid. She stood and laughed, not at all shying away from the darkness that fought to infiltrate her heart and soul. Perhaps she _wanted_ the darkness to take her in. Perhaps the light was too bright, too painful.

"Who was she?" Morgana's timid whisper broke Merlin out of his thoughts. "Why do you paint her here, like this?" She rushed forward and took Merlin's hands in hers. "Please, Merlin, I have to know. The others, they don't understand, but I've had these horrible nightmares. I keep seeing _her_."

"Seeing who?" Merlin asked, though he did not need to. He knew who Morgana was seeing, and what she was seeing that other version of herself become. He knew he had to help her, too, but that didn't make him want to. He remembered too vividly the monster those nightmares had made. But if this Morgana had magic… surely there was a chance to bring her to the side of good.

"That woman," Morgana whispered. "I didn't just come to see your paintings, Merlin. I came to you for help. I _need_ you to help me. Please. Maybe I'm going crazy. Gwen thinks the 'uncanny resemblance' has set off something in my imagination, but it feels so _real_. I'm scared."

Merlin hugged her to him. He barely knew this Morgana, but he knew he needed to help her. So he led her to a chair and sat her down before making a cup of tea. As he put it into her trembling hands, she smiled gratefully.

"Thank you, Merlin." She took a sip of the hot liquid and shivered. "I'm sorry… Falling apart like this. I don't know what's come over me!"

"I do," Merlin said, sitting down in the chair across from hers. "Morgana, I'm going to sound crazy, but you have to trust me."

Their eyes met and Morgana smiled. "I do, Merlin," she said. "God only knows why, but I do."

"Then there's something I need to tell you."

**A/N: Enjoy! If you have suggestions, questions, or anything like that, just leave a review!**


	4. Chapter 4

Morgana sat in stunned silence while Merlin fretted and paced about the tiny living room. He wanted to comfort her, but she didn't quite look like she needed or wanted comforting. Maybe _he_ was the one who needed comforting. He had, after all, just told her he had magic and that she might have magic, too. Part of him was afraid she would call the police and have him locked up for being insane, or for trying to make her believe his mad theories, or something like that. But she didn't make a move for her phone, and she didn't seem so scared. In fact, she seemed incredibly calm for someone who had just learned all the evil of their past life. When she spoke, she was very quiet.

"I did… all that?"

Merlin nodded. "Probably more… out of Camelot, I mean. I didn't have time to follow you everywhere."

She shook her head. "I would never… Not now… My father… He has _never_ kept secrets from me. He's not cruel like that. He is _not_ the Uther you described. And I am not that Morgana."

"I never said you were," Merlin said gently. "I don't think you were working for your own goals. There was something… empty about that Morgana. There's nothing empty about you."

Tears slid from her eyes. She wiped them away quite violently and folded her hands on her lap. Tersely, she thanked Merlin for letting her come by. Then she stood to leave. Before she could reach the door, however, Merlin grabbed her elbow and swung her around, looking into her eyes again.

"Morgana," he pleaded. "Let me help you. I know what you're going through."

"No," she said. "No, Merlin, you don't. But thank you for trying to understand. Would you join my brother and I for coffee tomorrow at one? You'll love him."

With that, she was gone, the door slamming behind her. Merlin stared after her for a moment, He wished he hadn't told her, but there was no taking that back now. Besides, it was probably better that she knew. It meant he had a chance to help her. He had failed her in another time, and he wouldn't do that now. It was his destiny to serve the Once and Future King, and he would not fail that destiny. Morgana was part of that destiny, wasn't she? So he would help her in any way he could, even if she did not want his help.

His phone buzzed, making him jump. It was a text from Gwaine, one of the few people from the gallery show he'd stayed in touch with. Merlin wondered if he should just ignore it, ignore all of it, and pretend these things weren't happening. Maybe if he pretended hard enough, he could make Morgana and the rest disappear, his destiny with them. But Merlin had never been able to escape his destiny, so he picked up the phone.

_Hey, Merlin. It's Gwaine. How are you?_

He smiled. In the past three months, he'd become quite friendly with Gwaine, even having lunch or dinner with one another every so often. So Merlin texted back: _I'm good. You?_

_I've got a date_, was Gwaine's cheerful reply.

_Oh?_ Merlin wrote. _With whom? Where are you going?_

_Call me_, Gwaine said. Merlin did. Gwaine sounded ecstatic when he picked up the phone.

"Merlin, you'll never guess what happened," he said.

"Someone asked you out." Merlin winced at the harshness in his voice, hoping Gwaine wouldn't hear it. "Who?"

"Ah, I have to tell you the whole story."

"Go for it."

"Okay, try to keep up," Gwaine said, and he launched into a complicated story that was oddly reminiscent of the poem _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_. Apparently some guy had arranged a 'challenge' where someone would punch him in the face and then he would punch them in the face three days later. Well, seeing as this guy was a gigantic guy, no one volunteered… except for Gwaine. Of course, Gwaine was brave (or stupid) enough to whack said guy in the face, and also brave enough to show up three days later. As it turned out, the guy had no intention of punching anyone in the face, especially not Gwaine. He had just wanted to see who was brave and true enough to accept. Then he proceded to ask Gwaine out to a movie, or Gwaine asked _him_ to a movie. Merlin wasn't to clear on that part. Anyways, Gwaine was supposed to meet him—Percival, apparently—at the movie theatre at five-thirty.

"Do you want to come by afterwards?" Merlin asked. "So I can—"

"You're not going to quiz him on chivalry, are you?"

"You read my mind."

"Sure. I'll drop by for a few minutes with Percival. Seven-thirty, then?"

"Sounds like a plan." Merlin paused. "You know, if it all works out, I'd love to paint you guys."

Gwaine laughed. "You go ahead and paint anyone you like, Merlin. See you later."

Merlin listened until he heard the familiar _click_ that meant Gwaine had hung up. Then he turned to his easel and sighed. So Gwaine and Percival had found each other once again. It was only a matter of time, he thought, until everything would start to fall apart.

"What am I going to do?" he whispered, picking up his brushes and paints. It was unsurprising that Mordred's face began to materialize on the canvas in front of him, and unsurprising that his face was shadowed with every ill thought Merlin had ever thought of him, ever projected onto the real Mordred. Had things been different…

No. Merlin pushed the thought aside. Mordred had been evil in that other time. That was _not_ Merlin's doing. He had _not_ been the one to 'turn Mordred evil.' Mordred would have done it of his own accord anyways. It didn't matter that Arthur's bane had been Arthur himself. Perhaps that all-knowing creature had been wrong. Perhaps the Great Dragon had been wrong. Perhaps everyone but Merlin had been wrong. Perhaps all the knights were wrong, though surely _one_ of them would have seen the truth had it been there. But destiny was destiny. Mordred's destiny was to kill Arthur, and Merlin had been powerless to stop it. He would do better now, he promised, even if Arthur did not recognize him.

**A/N: Next chapter, Merlin meets Arthur. Here is where I present a question: What ships would you all like me to write in? Aside from Percival/Gwaine, I have nothing set in stone right now. **


	5. Chapter 5

The café Morgana had chosen was only a few blocks away from Merlin's home, and a place he was very familiar with. He used to go there every Tuesday and Saturday with Elena. But Elena wasn't waiting for him now, nor was she standing next to him. He was alone, staring at the small pool of faces, looking for anyone who might look like Morgana.

"Lost, Merlin?" Her voice came from behind. When he turned around, she was smiling. "Merlin, this is Arthur. Arthur, Merlin."

Merlin barely had to look at Arthur to know he was virtually unchanged. He was as blonde as ever, as handsome as ever, and he wore the same smug expression as the old Arthur. Merlin remembered the first time they'd met with a smile. Arthur had, as he put it, tried to take his head off, and Merlin had stopped him with magic. As they looked each other up and down, Arthur frowned.

"Merlin, was it?" he said, furrowing his brow. "You look very familiar; have we met?"

As much as he wanted to say they had, Merlin could not. So he said, "I get that a lot," and that was the end of it for the time being. Arthur nodded, agreeing that that must be it, and they went into the café. Morgana drove the poor hostess crazy making sure they got a table near one of the gigantic windows, but it was well worth it in the end. As they sat and drank their coffee—or tea, in Morgana's case—they stared out the windows and chatted aimlessly, trying to get to know each other.

"So, Merlin," Arthur said. "My sister tells me you're a painter. Any truth in that?"

"Quite a lot, I'm afraid. How about you?"

Arthur made a face, but managed to keep his voice fairly even. "I work for my father. Lawyer, actually." He looked embarrassed. "It's sort of… been my family's business since… the beginning of time, really."

Morgana cut in anxiously. "I'm not a lawyer!"

"Really? And what _are_ you, Morgana! Do tell." Arthur was grinning, and Merlin realized he had the same smile. It shouldn't have surprised him, but it did. Centuries later, Arthur Pendragon still looked the same… still had the same smile…

"I'm in a band," Morgana said proudly. "We call ourselves Arthur's Bane."

"Oh yeah?" Merlin laughed. "What do you sing about?"

"Arthurian legends." Morgana's voice fell. She gave Merlin a meaningful look across the table. "I guess I've always felt a certain connection to them."

Setting down his cup of coffee, Arthur rolled his eyes. "Morgana used to think she was a reincarnation of some other Morgana. Said she used to dream about her. Though, seeing as Morgan le Fay was an evil witch, that seems about right."

The rest of their lunch was eaten to the sound of Morgana and Arthur bickering. Merlin fought desperately to stay in the present, but scenes of the past kept filtering in through his careful barriers. Suddenly he wasn't looking at the new Morgana and Arthur, but at the old ones. It was too much. Gasping, he dropped his coffee and put his face in his hands. Arthur's worried cry broke through the manufactured silence.

"My god. Merlin, are you all right?"

Before Merlin could speak, Morgana came to his rescue. "Arthur, you stay here and pay. I'll take Merlin out for some air. Meet us?"

Arthur agreed, and Merlin found himself being half carried outside. Morgana's arms were strong and steady around him, keeping him upright, helping him to walk until they found a bench. Morgana sat him down and crouched in front of him, her hands on his face, looking for a temperature.

"Merlin?" she called. "Merlin, can you hear me?"

He blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"I think you panicked," she said. "Don't worry, I'll come up with some story for Arthur. What happened?"

"I… couldn't look at him," Merlin admitted. "He was my friend in… in Camelot, and he—"

"And he will be your friend now." Morgana took his hands in hers. "Merlin, look at us. We were enemies then, but I don't think we will be enemies now. If we are not enemies, then there is nothing for Arthur to fear. We do not live in a time of dragons and magic… tyrannical kings… Arthur is safe. Look, he's all worried about you over there."

She indicated where Arthur was standing, watching them from a distance, his eyebrows knitted tightly together. When he saw Morgana pointing, he took it as his cue to hurry over and kneel on the sidewalk in front of Merlin, next to his sister. His eyes were so blue and concerned that Merlin had to fight back a laugh.

"Merlin, you scared me. Morgana, are _all_ your friends like this?" He mimicked his sister, saying, "'Oh you _have_ to meet _Merlin_! You'll _love_ Merlin! Arthur, are you _sure_ you don't know anyone named Merlin? He's so… collected; you'll see!' As if, Morgana. As if. Where's Gwaine when I need him?"

"I'm sorry," Merlin said quickly. Morgana glared at her brother.

"Arthur, you have _no_ manners. Aren't you going to ask Merlin if he's feeling better?"

Arthur looked sheepishly down at the pavement. "Merlin, are you all right now?" he asked slowly. Merlin nodded.

"Fine. I… My girlfriend just moved out… for, well, forever, and my grandfather isn't well. I guess I got overwhelmed."

Arthur nodded. "Oh, I'm sorry." He paused before adding, "My grandfather died when I was eleven, but I remember that feeling. Didn't have a girlfriend then, so I guess I can't relate fully, but there you go. It was nice meeting you, Merlin, even if you _did_ act like a complete _idiot_."

"Arthur!"

"What? It's _true_."

Morgana stood quickly, pulling Arthur with her. "I'm so sorry about him," she said. "Hasn't changed a bit, has he, Merlin?"

As she marched off down the street, dragging Arthur behind her, Merlin heard him cry, "Since _when_ haven't I changed, Morgana, and _why_ are you asking _Merlin_? What does he know about me?"

_All too much_, Merlin thought. _All too much_.

**A/N: So… I have a dilemma. I love Arthur/Gwen, but I also love Gwen/Morgana and I am somewhat fond of Merlin/Arthur. I have no idea what to do. Next chapter, however, will be an introduction to Gwaine and Percival (as well as some other knights). **

**I hope you all enjoyed this! Suggestions, questions, or comments are, as always, welcome. **


	6. Chapter 6

Gwaine was, as always, late to his and Merlin's impromptu meeting. He traipsed through the door at a quarter to eight with a grin and a wave in Merlin's general direction. He was pink-faced from the cold, his hair dusted with snow that had begun soon after Merlin had gotten home. Next to him was the biggest, toughest-looking guy Merlin had ever seen in his life. But his expression was one of sweetness and cheerful youth, not at all the look of someone who would punch someone else in the face. In fact… that was probably the only reason Gwaine still had his face to begin with.

"Hey, Gwaine," Merlin said. "You're forty-five minutes late."

Gwaine just laughed. "I know. I would say I'm sorry, but…" He glanced at Percival and grinned. "I'm really not."

"This must be Percival, then?"

"It's nice to meet you." Percival held out his hand. Merlin shook it slowly, expecting pain, but Percival was quite gentle. When he let go of Merlin's hand, Gwaine moved to stand beside him.

"Percival's quite something, isn't he, Merlin?"

"Yeah," Merlin agreed, wincing as Percival blushed beet red. Gwaine took no notice.

"How was your date?"

Now it was Merlin's turn to blush. "It wasn't a date."

"No? You sure that wasn't Morgana's master plan?"

"Maybe, but I don't think so. I'm not her type."

"Oh?" Gwaine looked intrigued. "What _is_ the Lady Morgana's type, then?"

Merlin couldn't answer, since he had never spent much time considering what kind of man (or woman) Morgana might be attracted to in this day and age. He thought she might like someone a bit taller than Merlin, or maybe a bit less skinny and awkward. Morgana herself was poised and charming, and Merlin was clumsy and scatterbrained. Besides, he was pretty sure Morgana had eyes for the Gwen of this era. The way she had talked about her at lunch made that clear enough. But Arthur seemed to like Gwen, too, and Merlin couldn't imagine _that_ would end well… Not for Arthur, at least.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I didn't ask."

Gwaine sat down in one of Merlin's four comfortable chairs. "And well you shouldn't, my friend. She'd probably slap you." He glanced at Percival. "You know Morgana, don't you, Percy?"

Percival nodded, but he didn't look too happy about it. "She beat me in fencing a few years back." He paused, then added, "She liked Leon a while ago, and now I think she likes Gwen, but Gwen's with Arthur… or Gwen _likes_ Arthur… or Arthur likes _Gwen_… or something like that. I'm not really sure… Wait—was it _Elyan_? Now it's definitely Gwen, but it was either Elyan or Leon… Can't remember."

Merlin winced. He knew that feeling well. In the past, he had been quite smitten with first Gwen, and then Morgana. Heck, he had even been slightly smitten with Gwaine, Lancelot, and Arthur! In fact, Merlin had been quite smitten with every one of his friends at one point… not that he would tell _any_ of them that, particularly not Gwaine.

"Come here," said Gwaine, pulling on Percival's arm. He kissed him briefly and then let go. Merlin smiled. At least Gwaine's affections never swayed.

After what felt like only a few minutes of conversation, Merlin glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight. Gwaine followed his gaze and laughed, saying that he and Percival should probably leave Merlin to his sulking, and that they had important TV and movie marathons to watch together. Merlin let them go and went to bed. He was too tired to deal with anyone anymore, even Gwaine and Percival. Too many old friends with new faces… It was making Merlin's heart ache quite painfully. As he drifted off, the last face he saw was Arthur's, the way he looked right before he died.

~O~O~O~O~

In the morning, Merlin woke to the sound of his phone buzzing madly. It was, unsurprisingly, Morgana. The witch had taken to calling him at the strangest hours, and she never seemed to run out of things to say. Sometimes Merlin would feign a headache just to get her to stop talking. But he loved Morgana. She had become one of his dearest friends since he had told her about her past, and she seemed determined to make up for it, too. Not that Merlin was complaining. He wasn't ready or willing to put up with a repeat of _that_ history. No… He would listen to Morgana for a thousand years if it meant avoiding the loss of everything and everyone he held dear. If that happened, he didn't think he'd have it in him to kill her again.

"Merlin?" She sounded distressed. "Merlin, are you awake?"

Merlin groaned. "Obviously, Morgana, or I wouldn't have picked up the phone. What's going on?"

"I didn't know who else to call! I was having another one of my nightmares, and I woke to find the vase of flowers on my dresser completely shattered. I-I didn't touch it, I swear, and no one else was in the house!"

"Do you have any pets that could jump up there?" Merlin asked. He could almost hear Morgana shake her head.

"None. Merlin, it was me. I did it."

"I thought you said you didn't—"

"No, Merlin, it was _magic_." She sobbed. "Could you… Do you think you could make it over here soon? I wouldn't ask, but I'm so scared!"

For a moment, Merlin wondered what would happen if he said no and went back to sleep. But then the memories came pouring back, and he found himself agreeing. Morgana thanked him at least a dozen times before hanging up the phone. For a while, Merlin just lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his heart hammering in his chest. It was starting again, he realized. The magic, the fear, the hatred… It would all come back soon enough, and Merlin would have to face each challenge again. Was it stupid to hope for a different outcome? As he got out of bed and got dressed, he wondered if he would be able to save Morgana this time. He wondered if he would be able to save Arthur, Gwaine, Elyan, and Mordred. He wondered if he would be able to save himself.

**This story is back! Yay! I've gotten my inspiration back and I'm hopefully going to be writing a lot more. I'm not sure I'm going to ship anything just yet, but I'll probably be giving nods to every ship (hence Percival, Gwaine, and Merlin discussing Morgana). **


	7. Chapter 7

When Merlin got to her flat, Morgana was waiting anxiously by the door, a cup of tea in her trembling hands. She was white as a sheet, her eyes half closed with exhaustion. But, to her credit, she was still standing. As her eyes landed on Merlin, she gave a little sigh of relief and ushered him inside.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I should have gotten dressed, but I just couldn't think of anything but the vase. I haven't even cleaned it up, Merlin. Would you believe that? Kept going to clean it up, but then I remembered how it happened, and I couldn't… I just couldn't. Have you spoken to Arthur since I introduced you?"

Merlin was taken aback by the sudden change in the subject, but he didn't protest. "Um, no, we haven't," he admitted. "I don't have his number."

Morgana looked shocked, or tried to. "Really? I have to give it to you!"

"Thanks, Morgana, really, but I think I'll just get his number next time we see each other."

"Good, good," Morgana said. Her face fell. "Would you like to see the vase?"

She led him into her bedroom, where the vase lay in broken pieces on the floor, water and flowers spilled all around it. She looked at it desolately, her eyes shining in the dim light. Merlin muttered a few words under his breath: a spell to reveal any traces of magic on the vase. Unfortunately, it glowed gold. He looked at Morgana grimly.

"It was magic," he said. "Yours. You have magic, Morgana. I'm sorry."

Morgana took the news strangely well. She told Merlin to wait in the kitchen and handed him a cup of tea while she went to shower and get dressed. When she came back out, she was wearing a long purple dress with a black, metal studded belt. Her hair was held away from her face with a few pins, and she had applied a little makeup. She looked surprisingly put together for someone who had just found out they had magical powers. She was taking it better than Merlin thought she would.

"I have to call Arthur," she said. "He has to know. Did he know before?"

Merlin nodded. "You didn't tell him," he offered. "You, uh, kind of lied to us… and then tried to kill us."

"Oh… Oh dear… Well, I'll call him. Arthur has to find out from me." She reached for her phone. "Do you think he's awake?"

Merlin checked his watch. It was barely four-thirty. Unless Arthur kept the same internal clock as Morgana, he would be asleep.

"I don't know," he said. "He might not wake up until six or so."

Morgana nodded but didn't put away her phone. Instead, she dialed Arthur's number and held it to her ear, smiling slightly. After a moment, Merlin heard Arthur's muffled, disgruntled voice. He couldn't make out the words.

"Arthur!" Morgana said sweetly. "Brother dearest, how _are_ you? No… No, I'm fine. No, I haven't seen the time. Goodness, is it _that_ early? Arthur… I wouldn't call if it weren't absolutely _vital_ that you come here as soon as you can. Hmmm? No, within the half hour… Of course. I don't know… I always have your favorite tea here! What kind of sister _wouldn't_? Uh-huh… Yes… See you soon. Love you. Bye."

Arthur showed up after fifteen minutes, wearing purple jeans and a red sweater that read _Camelot Sports Academy: Football_ on the front and _PENDRAGON_ on the back. When he caught Merlin staring, he blushed.

"I was in a hurry, okay?"

Merlin laughed. "I wouldn't have pegged you as the type who'd play football. I thought you might fence or something."

"I do fence!" Arthur cried indignantly. "But sometimes I like to play football. Is there a problem here, _Merlin_?"

Morgana cut in before Merlin could respond, her voice light and falsely casual. "Merlin, Arthur, I did _not_ introduce you so you could fight! Merlin, why don't we tell Arthur what we brought him here to tell him."

At that, Arthur's face went white. He looked from Merlin to Morgana with a look of shock and, oddly, betrayal on his face, eyes wide. For a while, he seemed at a loss for what to say, and then he said, "You're not getting married, are you?"

Morgana laughed. "Of course not! It's much more serious than that."

Arthur's frown deepened. "One of you is leaving the country tomorrow."

"Not at all."

"One of you is dying. It's Merlin, isn't it?"

"No, I'm not _dying_, Arthur!"

"One of you is actually a spy sent to kill me."

"No!"

Arthur sighed. "Fine. What is it, then, Morgana?"

Morgana took a deep breath. Merlin could see her mind working, deciding whether or not to tell her brother about her magic. He gave her an encouraging nod. _You can do it_, he thought, hoping it would reach her. She gasped and glanced at him quickly, signaling that she _had_ gotten his message.

_Thank you_, he heard in reply.

"Arthur," Morgana said softly. "I have magic."

Silence. Then, "Magic?"

"Yes."

"_Magic_, Morgana? There's no such thing as magic!" He turned to Merlin. "Merlin, _tell_ her there's no such thing as magic!"

Merlin shook his head sadly. Then he whispered a word of magic under his breath and held up his hand. A ball of blue light rested on his palm, bright and cool to the touch. In the dimness of Morgana's home, it cast beautiful shadows on Arthur's face. Suddenly, Merlin wasn't looking at this Arthur anymore. He was looking at the Arthur from his past, as he lay dying, whispering one last word of thanks before the last breath left his body. Merlin choked back a sob.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," he said. "I can't lie to you anymore."

Stunned, awful silence as Arthur took in the sight of Merlin with the ball of conjured light. He looked torn between two reactions, torn between staying and going. Then Morgana raised her hand, too, and gold light coiled around her fingers. She held it out to Arthur, smiling ever so slightly.

"Here, Arthur. Look. Magic is real, and I have it. I don't know how or why, but I do. And I want to share this…" She glanced at Merlin. "This _gift_. I want to share this gift with the brother I once used it to destroy."

"Morgana, what are you—?"

"Please, Arthur, just listen to me," Morgana pleaded, her face streaked with tears. "I was a little girl when my mother died, and you and your father took me in. _My _father, too, I later learned. You took me in and you took care of me. You showed me that I was worth a family, a father, and a brother. That's why I can't become what I was, Arthur. I _can't_."

Merlin went to comfort her, but she shrugged him off. That's when Arthur acted, wrapping his sister in his arms, hugging her tightly. Merlin watched with shining eyes. This was the way it should have gone before. This was the way the past should have been. Arthur and Morgana should have been the best of friends, the perfect brother and sister. Arthur should have known all along about Morgana's magic, and about Merlin's own magic.

"Merlin," Arthur said. "Strange… but I swear I know you from somewhere."

But this, Merlin decided, Arthur didn't need to know just yet. So he said, "Probably just a coincidence," and added _sire_ in his mind.

**A/N: This story is still back! I'm really excited for how this story is going to go. I don't know all the plot points yet, but I do know how the next couple of chapters are going to pan out. Still, feel free to make suggestions. **


	8. Chapter 8

Merlin painted for hours when he got home. When he finally stepped away, he saw Arthur Pendragon staring back at him from the canvas, illuminated by the same blue light Merlin had conjured earlier. A single thought repeated itself over and over again in his head: that he had _told_ Arthur about his magic. Arthur knew he had magic, what he was capable of, and he didn't care. He had taken the news well. He remembered with a smile the way Arthur had encircled his crying sister in his arms, protecting her from her own fears. Merlin wished the other Arthur could have been that understanding.

In the afternoon, Arthur came to Merlin's house to see some of his paintings, which Morgana had insisted he look at. As soon as he walked through the door, Merlin handed him a cup of tea and tried to distract him, anxious to keep him from seeing how much his paintings resembled their friends. He especially didn't want Arthur to see the paintings of his past self. But, unfortunately, Morgana seemed to have taken care of that.

"My sister says you've painted some uncanny likenesses, Merlin," he said, stressing the first syllable of the warlock's name. "Would you like to show me?"

Merlin's heart sank, but he nodded and forced a smile. "Of course. I'd love to. Um, here." He pulled him over to a painting of Gwen, wearing her crown and the brightest smile Merlin had ever painted. Then he showed him one of Mordred in his red cloak and shining armor, green light twisting around him, casting odd, geometric shadows on his face. He had a faraway, peaceful look in his eyes, and Merlin felt a pang of guilt. He had destroyed everything Mordred ever loved: the Druids he lived with, Morgana, Kara…. Everything. Nothing Merlin could do would ever make that right. He wouldn't blame the Mordred of this life for hating him. He half expected him to.

"What about this one?" Arthur asked, pointing to one of himself. His eyes were sharp and curious. "Is this recent?"

"Um… I painted that a few years ago, actually," Merlin admitted. "It's King Arthur, from the old legends."

"Right. Yeah. Of course. Camelot, right?" Arthur glanced down at his shirt, which said _Camelot Fencing: Arthur Pendragon_. "That's… freaky."

"Pretty freaky, yeah, but I swear I wasn't stalking you or anything. I just… somehow… knew your face?"

Arthur burst out laughing. Again, Merlin couldn't help but notice the way his whole face lit up as the sound rang throughout the room. He had always liked Arthur's laugh, more than he had liked Percivals or Elyan's or Leon's or Gwen's or even Gwaine's. Arthur's laugh was the kind of laugh that made everyone else want to laugh, too, and not in the way Gwaine's made everyone want to laugh _at_ him. No. Arthur's laugh made everyone want to laugh _with_ him.

"You knew my face, _Merlin_?" Arthur gasped. "How on Earth did you know my face?"

Merlin shrugged. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Really? Would I _really_ not believe you? I've taken a lot on faith these past few days, Merlin, and I'm fairly certain there's a lot I would believe. If you told me you were a robot from another planet, I am fairly certain I would _still_ believe you."

Merlin wanted to tell him. Really, he did, but he couldn't risk it. So he led Arthur to another painting. He had covered it, though he could not remember why. As he reached out to pull off the sheet, a strange sense of foreboding settled in his chest. He ignored it. It was probably stupid to do so, but he ignored it. He couldn't listen to those senses of foreboding anymore. They had lost him Arthur before, and they wouldn't do it again. The sheet fell away from the painting and Merlin realized why he had covered it.

It was Arthur, lying in his funeral boat, Excalibur folded under his hands. His eyes were closed. To anyone but Merlin, it might have looked like he was sleeping. The water sparkled around him like thousands of tiny teardrops. This painting… It brought back the very feeling of that day, of laying Arthur in the boat, folding his hands over Excalibur, and arranging his cloak around him as if for some ceremony. It brought back the cold of the water, the cold of Arthur's skin, the warmth of the tears running down Merlin's face, and the cold of his heavy heart. It brought back the way his heart had warmed up, until it was too hot to bear, burning into his chest. All those feeling just came rushing back, drowning Merlin as they vied for his attention. He choked back a sob and pressed his knuckles to his mouth.

"Merlin?" Arthur said softly. Merlin shook his head.

"I can't, Arthur. I'm sorry, but I can't. You know, everyone always thinks that being immortal would be amazing, but it's just… Thousands of years without any of your friends, and then they're all back. Some of them have come back right, but you don't know how many of them have come back wrong, and you hope and hope and hope that _maybe_ they'll stay right, and _maybe_ you can keep them on the right track this time, but you can't really expect that because you hoped before and everything went wrong. I can't lose you again, Arthur—_any_ of you. I can't go through that again. The bloodshed. Oh, and if that's not bad enough, the knowledge that _all_ of it is _your fault_. I lost most of my friends in a matter of _months_. I lost the one person I loved more than anything else to a cursed sword. And then I had to keep living."

He broke down. To his surprise, Arthur reached out and pulled him into a hug, almost like he had done with Morgana. He smoothed Merlin's hair with gentle hands and murmured, "It's all right," in his ear. It took a while, but Merlin's crying stopped. He looked up at Arthur with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"Arthur?"

"It's all right, Merlin. It's all going to be fine. Morgana cried, too, you know, after you left. But she's fine now. You're going to be fine, too, Merlin. I'm going to make sure of that."

"Do you… remember me?" Merlin asked, too hopeful, he knew, for his own good. Arthur hesitated, halfway between shaking and nodding his head.

"I remember a little," he said at last. "A feeling, really. I remember thinking you were brave and kind and… I remember I cared about you, even though I would never admit it. I thought you were an idiot most of the time, and it was my job to watch out for you. I never… I never realized it was _you_ watching out for me."

Merlin wanted to cry. Again. But he couldn't do that to Arthur. It was probably hard enough with a hysterical Morgana calling at all kinds of ungodly hours, and Merlin couldn't make himself another worry. So he stood up straight and said, "It was my destiny."

A small, sad smile touched the corners of Arthur's mouth. "Merlin… There's something I want to say to you. Something… something I'm sure I've never said before." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Thank you."

**A/N: I hope you like this chapter as much as I do. Arthur doesn't remember who he is fully (yet), but he will soon. Questions, comments, concerns? **


	9. Chapter 9

The next day, Arthur called Merlin and asked him out on an impromptu coffee date. Well, it wasn't exactly a _date_, but that's what Morgana called it when she texted Merlin about half an hour after Arthur called. Merlin met Arthur at the coffee and tea place a block away and ordered tea with milk and sugar. Arthur ordered black coffee with sugar and a muffin, which he picked at absentmindedly.

"So, Merlin, have you spoken to Morgana recently?" Arthur asked, smiling. "I hope she isn't bothering you. You know how my family gets… Does she text you at ungodly hours like she says she does?"

Merlin laughed. "Yeah, she does. But it's okay. Really. I love Morgana."

"Me too," Arthur said. "But that doesn't mean she isn't annoying as hell. Did I ever tell you about that time she put hair dye in my shampoo?"

"No."

"Well, she did. Pink. The kind that doesn't really wash out. So I went to _school_ with pink hair. It didn't wash out for three months, I swear. I was about to get revenge and put some bleach in _her_ shampoo, but Dad caught me and threatened to take away ever privilege I had. Then he laughed at my hair and sent me off to do my homework."

Merlin found himself smiling. He had almost forgotten how much he loved these new Pendragons, but Arthur was there to remind him. He had not yet met Uther, but he hoped he would, just so he could make things right in some small way, even if Uther never knew.

"That sounds a bit unfair," Merlin said. Arthur nodded, laughing.

"You're telling me. Morgana loves to remind me of this little incident every time we see our father. Of course, he pretends not to remember it. Father has selective memory loss, you know."

"Well, that's… Fathers are like that. Back in Camelot, Gaius called me stupid a few times. Usually because what I was doing was _actually_ stupid as hell. He never seemed to remember it, though, even after some gentle reminders. He, um, wasn't really my _father_, but he was the only father I knew."

Arthur took Merlin's hand across the table, staring into his eyes with an intensity that was exactly like the Arthur from thousands of years ago. He wasn't smiling, but his expression was kind and good.

"Then that's all that matters, Merlin," he murmured. "I remember that. I remember Gaius being like a father to you."

They stayed for another hour and a half, until their drinks got cold, but the conversation didn't dry out. An hour and a half later, they still had just as much, if not more to talk about. An hour and a half later, Merlin still wanted to know more about these new and improved Pendragons, this new and improved world. He wanted to know more about Morgana and Arthur's childhood, about the other knights. He wanted to know if Gaius was alive, and where he might be. He wanted to know how much of Camelot Arthur really remembered, and if he was starting to remember more.

When they left the café, neither Merlin nor Arthur wanted to say goodbye, so they went for a walk in the park. For a while they said nothing, merely enjoying each other's presence. That was something Merlin had missed: just walking and listening to the wind in the trees, the fall of Arthur's feet, the birds singing. He tugged fondly at his scarf, which was made to look exactly like the one he had always worn in Camelot. He wondered if Arthur remembered it.

"Arthur?" he asked.

"Mmhmm?"

"What are you thinking?"

"Hmm?"

"What's on your mind? You look… far off."

It was true. Arthur's eyes had taken on a far away look as he stared ahead of him. He turned to look at Merlin then, his eyes narrowing in surprise. Hadn't anyone asked him for his thoughts before?

"I, uh… I'm… I was just thinking that this is very nice, and I would very much like to do this again sometime. Would you like to… go out with me again?"

"Go out?" Merlin asked. "Is that a date offer, then, Arthur Pendragon?"

Arthur blushed and almost looked away. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is. Would you accept it if it was?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I definitely would."

Arthur laughed. "You haven't changed a bit, Merlin," he said. Then he halted, a look of awe dawning on his face.

"What is it, Arthur?" Merlin asked. Arthur shook his head.

"I _remember_," he whispered. "Not everything. But I remember _you_."

Merlin held his breath. "What do you remember exactly?"

Arthur shook his head again, incredulous. "I remember bits and pieces. I remember calling you an idiot all the time, even though I never _really_ thought you were stupid, and I remember calling you a coward, insane, useless, spineless, absolutely the _worst_ manservant I had ever had…. Which was true. You were a _terrible_ manservant. You should have been court sorcerer or something. Maybe you wouldn't have butchered that."

"Prat!" Merlin cried. "I didn't _butcher_ anything. You butchered being king!"

"You _so_ did, Merlin! You absolutely did! I will _not_ hear otherwise."

"Absolutely not, Pendragon. You are so stuck up."

"Well, you were my manservant. You used to work for me."

"Do I work for you now?"

"Well, no…"

"So you can't tell me what to do. I'm a painter now, and you don't know the first thing about art."

Arthur gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Oh _please_. I'll have you know I took a full art class in high school, and I passed."

"Oh, wow. Forgive me, then, Arthur Pendragon. I obviously underestimated your artistic achievements. How will you _ever_ forgive me?"

Arthur's grin widened. "Shut up, _Merlin_."

"So…" Merlin shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I'd better be getting home. I've got to call my mother. Haven't done that in a while, and she worries so much."

"Yeah." Arthur nodded. "Absolutely. Thursday? Is Thursday at six good? We can have dinner at my place, and then we'll go to a movie. Sound fun?"

"Thursday at six sounds great. See you then." Merlin hugged Arthur goodbye. Then he started towards his flat, smiling to himself. The Pendragons really had changed, and Merlin was starting to believe it was truly for the better.

**A/N: Questions, comments, concerns? **


End file.
